


We both went wrong

by Ciara_in_cotton_socks



Series: Different [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chris Chow is a saint, Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Dex needs a hug, M/M, Minor Chris "Chowder" Chow/Caitlin Farmer, Minor Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Nursey needs a hug too, Pining, Poor Dex, William Poindexter thinks too much, but it gets better, everyone is unchill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 12:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10277783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciara_in_cotton_socks/pseuds/Ciara_in_cotton_socks
Summary: It's their senior year, and now the problem is that they don't see each other enough to feel much of anything.Will sometimes thinks it was better when he hated Nursey.It was definitely easier.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably make more sense if you read 'And now I'm out of the race' first, to get an accurate idea of how much I've put poor Dex through the ringer. It may not be essential though.
> 
> Title, as before, comes from 'Different' by The Academic. They're a little Irish band and they're pretty sweet. Just sayin'.

Will arrives at the Haus for his senior year on a balmy late summer afternoon, and quickly discovers that while some things have changed irrevocably, others remain resolutely the same.

 

Bitty may be gone- off to culinary school, much to the chagrin of the Falconers’ nutritionist- but he’s managed to stop by and fill the fridge with some of his most mouth-watering creations.  Will also discovers a box wrapped in blue paper on the kitchen table bearing a tag with his name on it.  Inside the box is a leather-bound notebook, each page filled with carefully transcribed recipes in the Georgian’s own hand, and a tear-stained note reminding him that he has custody of Betsy II now.  He stands in the kitchen for a long time, fists white-knuckled, before tucking both gifts into his holdall and beginning the trek to the attic.

 

The infamous green couch is gone, Bitty having finally made good on his promise to burn the thing on the front lawn the night he graduated.  The ceremony had been almost sombre, and Chowder had cried even though he said he hadn’t.  Will had watched Nursey watch the flames, his expression unreadable, and beat a hasty retreat to the Reading Room before he could ask what was wrong.  He hadn’t thought he wanted to know the answer.

 

It’s strange; Will had agreed with Bitty about the couch needing to go, though perhaps not with as much vehemence, but looking at its replacement sitting in the living room fills him with a sort of nostalgia.  The new sofa is bigger and comfier and doesn’t run the risk of impaling its occupants on a rogue spring, but it’s missing all the stains from Chowder falling asleep on it with various beverages in hand.  Will is oddly glad to see that nobody has thought to fill the elbow-shaped crevice in the wall from Ransom and Holster’s raucous return kegster last semester.  He shoves at the new couch a bit so that it hides the crack a little better.

 

He’s not the first to arrive, a couple of the juniors having spent the summer months working nearby, but after emerging unscathed from Tango’s barrage of questions about his vacation- he both resents and respects Bitty for offering him his dibs- and a relatively civil greeting with Whiskey and a LAX bro whose name may or may not be Chad, there’s something eerie about climbing the stairs without the incessant beat of Beyoncé filtering from under what is now Tango’s door.  Even Wicks and Ollie’s constant sniping is conspicuous by its absence, and Will shivers a bit in spite of himself.

 

The attic is, blissfully, still the attic.  It looks just as he and Nursey had left it, and even smells the same, albeit with a slight cloak of mustiness over the unique fresh-paper-and-spicy-cologne aroma which Will has become accustomed to.  He sets about unpacking, knowing only too well that Nursey will only remove things from his case as he needs them and wanting at least half of the room to be in order, then flops down on his bottom bunk to let it all sink in.

 

Senior year.

 

A series of lasts stretches out before him, most of them far closer than he wants them to be.  Last first day back.  Last first game of the season.  Last Winter Screw.  Last chance at the playoffs.  Last day in the Haus.  Last day of Dex-and-Nursey-and-Chowder, pretending badly to be put out by his fellow eternal frogs.  Last night in the attic.

 

Will stops thinking after that, and is promptly hit by the whirlwind that is Chris Chow, goalie extraordinaire and new captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team, hurling himself at him with a jubilant cry of ‘DEEEEEXXXX!’

 

“Jesus Christ, Chowder, you just came to visit two weeks ago,” he grumbles, even though Chowder isn’t the one holding on for dear life.

 

“I know, I know, but I missed you!” Chowder exclaims, pulling out of the cuddle to rub agitatedly at the nape of his neck.  “There’s so much to do Dex, who on earth thought I’d be fit to follow in Bitty’s footsteps?”

 

“Uh, everyone?  It was unanimous, C.”

 

“But it’s so much _pressure_! I’m not cut out for captaincy Dex, Cait says I’m going grey!”

 

“She’s chirping you, C.  Besides, you know Bitty’s always at the end of the phone, right?  And Nursey and I, we’ll help with the kegsters and things- speaking of, where is Nursey?  He’s usually moved in by the time I get back- probably at Maya’s I guess.”

 

Chowder shoots him a strange look.  “Didn’t Nursey tell you?” he asks hesitantly.

 

“Tell me what?”

 

“They broke up, Dex.”

 

“They did?  When?” Will asks, as casually as he can manage.  He doesn’t think either of them buy it.

 

Chowder thinks on it a minute.  “Second week of the holidays, I think.  Round about the time he went down to visit her in Phoenix.  Sorry, I thought you knew.  Didn’t Nursey come to visit you the week before I did?”

 

“Yeah,” says Will slowly, getting up to open the window because the longer he sits in the attic the mustier it feels.  “Yeah, he did.  Maybe he was still cut up over it.  He really liked Maya.”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” says Chowder, and then his expression clears into his usual blinding grin- one thing, Will is sure, will remain eternally steadfast.  He finds himself wrapped up in another one of the goalie’s patented cuddles and chuckles.  “It’s gonna be a good year, Dex.”

 

Maybe it’s just some of Chowder’s sunshine rubbing off on him, but Will finds himself agreeing.

 

__________________________

 

If Will had hoped for even a moment that Nursey being single again would make things go back to the way they used to be pre-Maya, that notion is soon snuffed out.  Once the adrenaline of the first few weeks back dissipates, once Hazeapalooza ends without injury to any incoming tadpoles or Chowder having a coronary, things in the attic become sort of... mechanical.  The most Will sees of Nursey is their time on the ice at practice, and he knows a lot of that is down to their incompatible class schedules but he still feels a little miffed each time Nursey skips one of their Will-and-Nursey-and-Chowder 80s movie appreciation nights to go to some poetry reading or work on an assignment with his pretentious fellow English majors.

 

“He’s just figuring stuff out,” Chowder says patiently, the umpteenth time Will expresses this to him.  It’s November and bitterly cold, but they sit huddled together in the Reading Room (Tango is out for the night with one of Farmer’s teammates who loves answering questions as much as he loves asking them) sharing a gargantuan bowl of special fried rice, Chowder’s only area of culinary expertise.  Will huffs, his breath blooming in front of him, and fumbles to swat at his companion’s head with a gloved hand.

 

“I know, I know,” he replies, also for the umpteenth time, but they both know he’s just acquiescing for Chowder’s sake.  “I should be glad, really.  Nursey’s constant commentary during _The Breakfast Club_ is obnoxious.”

 

“I think it’s funny,” says Chowder, because he’s Chowder and of course he does.  He pushes the bowl back to Will.  “There’s one prawn left, it’s all yours.”

 

“Thanks C,” Will murmurs, and the pair of them sit out on the roof until the bowl is empty and Nursey comes trudging up the path to the Haus, shivering from head to toe because he was determined not to let a little thing like the weather ruin his aesthetic by forcing him into the winter coat Will had offered him earlier.

 

__________________________

 

They play Yale just before Christmas, and Will is on edge from the moment he walks into Faber.  Maybe it’s because he knows how dirty Yale play when things aren’t going their way, or maybe it’s the pressure of having Bitty and Jack and _Alexei freaking Mashkov_ in the stands, or maybe he’s still thinking about the fact that he knows Nursey pulled his name in the Haus ‘Secret Gift Exchange’ (Secret Santa having been deemed offensive by Whiskey, who Will is convinced is being possessed by the ghost of Shitty’s flow).  Whatever the reason, Chowder has to call his name three times in the locker room and he’s so out of sorts that he just grunts when Nursey nudges him to ask what’s wrong.

 

He is deplorable on the ice, and if it weren’t for Chowder he knows the team would be paying for it.  Instead he’s the only one who pays, and it comes in the form of constant concerned glances from Nursey that make him even more skittish.  They make it to the end of the third, miraculously ahead in spite of Will’s terrible display thanks to Picky’s lucky shot, and Will shrugs off his helmet to catch his breath.

 

“Dude, you OK?” Nursey mutters, crammed in too close next to him on the bench.  He hasn’t taken off his helmet, but Will knows without looking that his eyebrows are knitting together with concern.  They haven’t talked much recently, not properly, and the shadow of Winter Screw and having to find his fellow defenseman a date is just another thing to add to the list of Things Will Shouldn’t be Thinking About During a Hockey Game.  He scowls and snatches the water bottle Whiskey thrusts into his hand.

 

“’M fine, Nurse,” he growls, trying to convince himself more than anything else.  Nursey, when he dares to glance up, looks like he wants to argue but thankfully Coach Hall launches into a tirade before he can do so.  The words wash over Will without much impact and he is startled when everyone starts to pile back onto the ice for the fourth.

 

Nursey catches his sleeve on the way back out, and he twists to look at him somewhat reluctantly.

 

“What?” he snaps testily, petulantly pleased when Nursey’s determined expression flickers just a little.

 

“Get it together Dex,” he says in a low, pleading tone that makes Will want to look away again.  “Yale will be out for blood this quarter, I need you to get your shit together.”

 

He forces himself to smirk, pats Nursey’s helmet with practiced ease.

 

“ _Chill,_ Nursey,” he chirps, sounding a lot airier than he feels, and is vindictively self-satisfied when Nursey rolls his eyes.  This part of the script they could do in their sleep.  “I’ll be fine, promise.”

 

Nursey, as he so often infuriatingly is, is right about Yale.  They’ve never been able to handle chasing the game against perceived minnows like Samwell, and sure enough a dirty undercurrent soon creeps into their play.  They get mouthy too, mostly just the usual uninventive Neanderthal insults about mothers that Bitty taught them all long ago not to rise to, but there are a few nasty digs that get the Samwell hackles raised and have Mashkov booming at the ref over the rest of the increasingly agitated Samwell home crowd.

 

It happens after Nursey shoulders one of the Yale forwards in retaliation for a clumsy tackle on Will.  He grins at his fellow d-man, spinning away with a shrug to help him to his feet, and then the Yale moron yells... something.

 

He doesn’t hear exactly what, most of it lost in the cacophony of the crowd, but he does catch That Word- the one Shitty had lectured them about endlessly freshman year, the one that always makes Nursey go deathly still.

 

He’s still now, and Will doesn’t have to see his face to know how stricken his features look. 

 

Will is still too, and then he’s not.

__________________________

 

The mood in the Haus when they eventually traipse home is subdued.  There is no kegster- there haven’t been all that many since Ransom and Holster left anyway- and everyone is just sitting around the living room talking and nursing beers when Will finally makes it through the front door, Chowder trailing after him carrying both of their gear bags.  He’s weary to his core and sporting a bright turquoise cast (Chowder’s choice, not his), a broken bone in his hand his reward for his bout of chivalry.  It doesn’t hurt anymore, not after the painkillers they gave him at the hospital, and he feels sheepish more than anything else, wants nothing more than to curl up in the attic with his blanket over his head and never speak to anyone ever again.

 

The plan works for about three seconds, and then everyone is on him.

 

They babble and chirp and scold and fret over him, and his skin crawls.  He’s never liked being the centre of attention, just wants them all to stop, and he says so because he’s an asshole who can’t deal with having people try to take care of him.

 

There is a long, uncomfortable silence which is finally punctuated by Chowder patting his shoulder bracingly and announcing to the room at large that the doctor in the ER told Will to get some sleep so he’s going to bed now.  The doctor said no such thing, and Will shoots his friend a small, grateful smile as they climb the stairs together, Chowder still carrying Will’s bag for him.

 

“You think Nursey’s home yet?” Will asks after a moment or two.  His fellow defenseman didn’t come to the hospital with them- he didn’t even _look_ at Will as he loaded into Chowder’s car, and he hasn’t texted to see if he’s alright either.  Will feels a little queasy, and not because of the painkillers in his system.  Next to him, Chowder shrugs.

 

“Probably,” he says.  “He texted to say he was.”

 

“He texted you?” asks Will, trying not to feel slighted.  “He didn’t text me.”

 

“Um,” Chowder says unhappily.  “I mean, he probably just didn’t want to bother you.  You did break your hand, Dex, it’s kinda a lot to take in.”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

At the top of the stairs, Chowder hands Will his bag and then pulls him into a warm one-sided hug.

 

“As your captain I’m supposed to be mad at you,” he says, but he’s smiling.  “But as your friend, I was about thirty seconds away from joining the party.  I’m sorry you broke your hand, but I’m glad you punched that jerk.  Also, in the morning, dibs on signing your cast first.”

 

Will snorts but squeezes a little tighter before letting go.

 

“Thanks, C,” he says.  He waits for Chowder to bound back down the steps to the living room before shouldering open the door to his room.

 

Nursey, it turns out, has come home after all.  He’s sitting cross-legged in his top bunk, the top of his head of dark curls almost brushing the ceiling, and he’s got a notebook in his hands which he shuts with a snap when Will closes the door.

 

“So,” Will says.  “I broke my hand.”

 

He waves the cast at Nursey to accentuate the point, then sits on his own bed.  Nursey clambers down the ladder, only slipping once, and comes to sit next to him.  He picks the cast up to examine it.

 

“C pick the colour?” he asks, his voice hoarse.  Will smirks.

 

“No shit, Sherlock.”

 

Nursey lets his hand drop and fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his sweater.  Will is acutely aware of the fact that his roommate has been biting his nails, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Nursey mutters, avoiding Will’s gaze.  “You shouldn’t have punched that guy, not on my account.”

 

“Are you kidding?  He was a douche, Nursey!”

 

“But you shouldn’t have gotten your hand broken.  I hear that shit all the time, Dex, I can handle it.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it!”

 

Nursey shrugs.  “I’m used to it.”

 

Jesus, he’s infuriating, and Will struggles not to tell him so.  Instead, he says:

 

“Just because you’re used to it, doesn’t make it right.  Nobody has the right to say those things to you, Nursey, and if you can’t see that it’s my job to see it for you.”

 

Nursey looks up at him then, and Will wishes he hadn’t because he’s staring at him with an utterly mystified expression, like he genuinely can’t grasp that he’s worth defending.  Will swallows thickly.

 

“I- shit, Dex, you broke your hand,” says Nursey, almost pleadingly.  “You broke your hand because of me, that’s... that’s too much.”

 

“You actually believe that, don’t you?” asks Will.  He wants to take Nursey by the shoulders and shake him until he sees sense.  “Nursey, what he said, the word he used... That’s not OK.  I’m glad I punched him, and I don’t care about my hand- I’d punch him ten more times, even if it meant breaking my hand every time.  You’re worth more than a broken hand.”

 

Nursey opens his mouth to speak, then abruptly closes it again.  He shuts his eyes, breathes deep, and pinches the bridge of his nose.  He looks helpless, overwhelmed, and Will just wants to make it so he never looks like that again.

 

“You shouldn’t waste your energy worrying about me,” Nursey reiterates, and Will seethes.

 

“You know who I think should get a say in what I should do?  Me,” he says, firm and stubborn.  He juts his chin in unspoken challenge.  “And I want to waste my energy worrying about you.  I always worry about you, this year especially.”

 

“Why this year?”

 

“Are you kidding me, Nurse?  Since the summer you’ve been practically AWOL, I barely see you off the ice.”

 

“People drift apart, Dex,” says Nursey, but he doesn’t sound like he believes himself.  “It happens.”

 

“Not to us!”

 

The words are out before he can stop them, and once they escape they linger.  They seem to grow in the air between them, expanding to fill the room and suffocate Will.  His chest feels like it’s burning, and he can’t look at Nursey.  Abruptly, he stands and strides across the room to the window.  His hands have a white-knuckle grip on the windowsill.

 

“Dex,” says Nursey slowly, and the bed creaks as he rises.  Will doesn’t turn around; he doesn’t need to, can feel the pin-pricks of his roommate’s eyes on his back.  “Dex, what- this, all of this, it’s not like you, dude.”

 

“Yeah, well you shutting me out isn’t like you either but that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.”

 

“I haven’t!  Not on purpose anyway, I just-“

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Maya broke up?”

 

Jesus Christ, he’s really got a way with words tonight, doesn’t he?  Will feels shame begin to slither across his skin, and with reluctance he swivels to face Nursey.  The other boy- he still thinks of them both as boys, the same two freshmen who squabbled non-stop, even now that graduation is looming on the horizon- is standing in the middle of the room, stock still, and looking like the bottom has fallen out of his world.  Apologies bubble up to spill from his lips.

 

“I shouldn’t have asked that, I’m sorry, I just- shit, Nursey, it really hurt, having to hear it from Chowder, and you never said anything, not once, and I waited and I hoped you’d tell me in the end and then you started _disappearing_ all the time and I thought it wouldn’t matter, I thought I’d like it, having space, but I didn’t- I _don’t_ \- I never thought I’d miss having you around but I do, I do so much I sometimes feel like I’m going insane, and... and...”

 

He cuts himself off because Nursey is _staring_ at him, and old habits die hard so he bristles.

 

 _“What?”_ he says hotly, and a startled chuckle slips from Nursey.

 

“I’ve been so stupid,” he whispers, more to himself than to Will, and then raises his voice a little.  “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length, things would be easier.  I thought I’d stop feeling the way I did eventually.  I did, for a bit, with Maya, but... it didn’t last.  Nothing else ever lasts, just you.”

 

It’s hard to breathe again; Will wants to open the window, but can’t tear his gaze from Nursey long enough to do it.

 

“What’re you saying?” he asks slowly, and the most beatific smile spreads across Nursey’s face.

 

“I’m saying I can’t stop thinking about you any more than you can stop worrying about me.  There’s a universe in you, Dex, and I want to know every inch of it.”

 

Will stares, then cracks.

 

“Are you- are you _fucking_ with me right now?” he asks incredulously, a note of hysteria in his voice.  “I’ve been- I’ve been driving myself insane with the thought of you for so, so long- and now you’re telling me... what?  That you’ve been doing the same?”

 

Nursey shrugs, and the action is so very _Nursey_ it makes will either want to scream or cry, or maybe do both.  Instead, he crosses the space between them and, before he can stop himself, kisses Nursey full on the mouth.

 

As kisses go, it is not one for the history books.  There are no fireworks, no tears, no swelling musical numbers in the background.  For all intents and purposes it is unremarkable, except in every way that it is not. 

 

Nursey is startled at first, but then relaxes.  He leans into Will, his hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and Will’s fingers find their way into his dark curls in a way he has only fantasised about in his most private moments.  After a moment, the absurdity of it all seems to hit them both in perfect unison, and they can’t help but laugh against each other’s mouths but they don’t pull apart.  Time is inconsequential, minutes or hours passing unrecognised until there is a hammering on the door which makes Will pull back with an obvious reluctance that makes Nursey smirk.

 

“You two done being idiots yet?” Chowder calls through the door, and that sets the two of them off laughing, so hard that Will’s cheeks begin to hurt and he can’t catch his breath.  Through it all, he is acutely aware that Nursey has not removed his hand from his shoulder and he feels a sudden warmth begin to flood him from the toes up. 

“Yeah,” he calls, almost breathless, and Nursey beams at him.  “Yeah, I think we are.”

 

“Thank _God,_ ” their best friend says loudly.  “Watching you tiptoe around each other was exhausting!”

 

“Oh shut up,” Will says cheerfully, and he winds the fingers of his unbroken hand into Nursey’s.  The pair of them are standing so close that he can count each one of those unfairly long eyelashes.  Outside, he hears Chowder begin to clatter back down the stairs again, still proclaiming his relief at the top of his voice.

 

“He’s been a good friend to me through all of this,” Nursey says quietly, rubbing his thumb against Will’s.  Will smiles at him, the first proper smile that’s been present on his face in what feels like forever.

 

“Guess we have something in common after all,” he replies, and takes a moment to think about how truly wonderful Chowder has been to him until Nursey is kissing him again, and then he doesn’t think of anything at all.

 

He feels though.  He feels _warm_ , like the sun is shining right from his core. 

 

Will feels, and it feels right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read this far, thank you so much!
> 
> So I had initially said I'd post this at the weekend, but between preparing 90 little girls for their first ever school musical and organising my own summer trip to Uganda as a volunteer teacher time got away from me. I'm sorry it took an extra couple of days, but maybe it's a case of better late than never?
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome, as are ideas/prompts for future dabbling with this pairing or others. I've caught the hockey-boys-in-love bug and I don't think there's a cure!
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Ciara


End file.
